With Time
by LaPetiteCafe
Summary: History doesn't remember reluctant heroes, and nor does he. But when one steps through the door like a woman out of her time, he has to recall that sometimes heroes are born out of street alleys and beaten paths too.
1. Chapter 1

One day he will look into the rearview mirror of some calloused taxi driver's car and see his existence; a maternity ward where he was born, tender arms, a college degree, bullets – his bland life sluggishly lumbering towards a horizon of mediocre skyscrapers and dilapidated bricks. And he will not idly dismiss this life, the appeal of cold floors, overly-salted soup, and alleyway fights much too strong for him to ignore. Because this life that he sees lacks the darkness and the frigid claws and tears that had torn at his chest and face when he was the figurehead for the war. Because Steve knows he was nothing more than that, despite breaking free from the bondages that had restricted his physical prowess to the stages and eyes of lost children and women. Yet, he touches the back pocket of his blue jeans. She isn't there, safely guarding him from these malicious thoughts, but he finds reprieve in the adopted movement and shakes himself from his reverie.

He looks away from the rearview mirror and spots the telltale sign of Central Park; jogging feet, salted peanuts, sleek, dark cameras. He hands his driver the allotted amount of money due and then some more before pushing the car door open. He is hit by the scent of winter, and he allows himself to slightly curve his shoulders to preserve a semblance of lingering warmth, before heading up the steps to the American Museum of Natural History. Aside from rehabilitating himself to the technology of the decade, he had decided that it was in his best interest to also catch up on the legacy the war had left behind.

Plus, Stark had been growing overbearing for the past few days, and the man needed data from the institute.

He easily slides through security and finds himself gazing at the large bones of the tyrannosaurs rex. As always, a second of his breathing is stolen by the sheer size of the extinct animal. While he had faced far greater enemies of larger proportions, this dead animal before him is something more majestic – _transcendent._ " _Like you,"_ he could hear the bite in Stark's words if the man had accompanied him, and cannot control the chuckle that builds up and past his lips. Then suddenly, he makes the mistake and turns his gaze to the side of the entrance hall.

His breath, this time, does freeze, and he realizes that monstrosity and beauty instill two different kinds of fear into a person.

And beauty is terror.

Her body moves through the crowds like a knife, they part for her, consciously or unconsciously, Steve can't differentiate, but he continues to watch. To watch as the chatter of the public fall like waves crashing on the shore to his ears as he cannot help but notice how _silent,_ she moves. She glides through throngs of sugar-powered children, a betraying smile painting her red lips, and for a miniscule of a second he is reminded of other stolen smiles – _Peggy,_ and he blinks. He loses all but two seconds of her, yet by the time he is turning his body to find her elusive figure, she is already at the exist. Unmoving.

Then she tilts her head and he valiantly tries to ignore the large curls reminiscent of his rearview past, and feels his cheeks heat. She is watching him too. Under her heavy-lidded gaze, the ghost of her red lips mock him as she dips her head and disappears through the exit doors. Steve Rogers' chest rises again.

Beauty is a terror.

He takes a step back, feels the brush of a wool coat, and quickly turns to apologize at the woman who had been darting behind him. She doesn't pay heed to Steve though, and he is under no doubt that the stranger has grown accustomed to New York's lack of propriety and personal space. He looks back at the exit again, her aura pulling at him while his own feet continue to move the other way. He cannot forget her, cannot erase her dark eyes and heavy curls, and cannot for some strange reason, bury the way he made her feel. Scared, frightened – and rightly so.

"For what could be more terrifying and beautiful than something or someone that can make us lose control completely?" Steve jostles from his thoughts, frowns at his lack of attentiveness, and nods at the museum employee by his side.

"Hi, I'm Everett Sterns," he smiles. _He must be the same age as me,_ Steve accepts the handshake. _Or was the same age as me._ He glances back at the doors one more time, hoping by chance that maybe the mystery woman would come waltzing back in. "I'm Professor Rourke's assistant – he's, uh," the boy flushes. "- he's very sorry he couldn't personally come down to meet you."

Steve rolls his shoulders back, revealing his full height to the boy. He tries to appease him with a smile as he fully turns his attention towards the young man. "I'm sure he has his reasons," he nods. "I'm just here by proxy too."

Everett is lean, his hair so blond that it is almost white, and visibly deflates under Steve's forgiving attitude. "Well, you know how scientists can get," he jokes, then swallows, appearing to choke on the very words he had just spoken. "I – I mean with all due respect, they are busy men I just meant –"

"It's fine," Steve doesn't mind any sharp retorts thrown at his friend's son. _Son –_ he is still recovering from the time difference. "It's all fine," he repeats at the red-faced boy. "So do you have the papers?"

Everett plainly stares at him, before consciously berating himself and shaking his head. His feet turn and he beckons the famous Steve Rogers to follow him. "It's on a flash drive – no papers," he navigates them through the sea of tourists, strollers, and slow-paced gentry. "I was just scanning a few more documents onto the computer before you came in actually – our correspondence from Paris had just dropped them off," he leads them past a door with an "Employees Only" lettering emblazoned on the frost-glass in big, white paint. They scale up a stairwell.

"Paris?" Steve echoes. They are isolated from the populace now, and he finds his words bouncing off of the white walls. Everett leads them to a hallway with many glass doors. He reaches for the lanyard in his pocket and grabs the ID at the end of it. Pressing it against a metal square, the door they are settled in front hisses open to reveal a very cluttered lab. Steve lets Everett walk in first as he follows him at a slower pace.

"Looks like the papers are done," the young scientist reaches for a small rectangular item lying on top of a printer. "But yes, Paris," he confirms, jabbing the flash drive into its corresponding slot. "We are connected to many museums throughout the world. Sharing data, I find, is the most important variable in regard to producing and promoting scientific discoveries."

Steve mutely watches as Everett transfers the newly scanned documents into the folder. "Diana – I mean," the boy stutters again. "Miss Prince, will be by later on this week to work with Dr. Rourke in the translation of a few documents – you should stop by then or give us a call if some pieces don't appear right after Mr. Stark processes through them," he suggests.

Steve takes the flash drive form Everett's hand and stores it safely in the chest pocket of his leather jacket. He is almost tempted to ask what Diana Prince looked like, but holds back on it. He nods one more time at the assistant. "Thank you for your help, Mr. Sterns. Stark appreciates it."

* * *

A/N: To be fair, I've always had this idea after the Wonder Woman movie. _Anyway,_ someone stop me. I haven't finished my other story and am in no position to be creating a new one. However, sound tracks inspire, and words just spilled and it just had to be done. To be clear, I will be sticking with the movie-verse for both Marvel and DC movies since I read the comics when I was young and have no good memory left about them. Anyway, I hope this was okay! Questions, feedback, comments, constructive criticism - hit me!

And like always, fair warning that I suck at present tense, and so apologize for any grammatical errors. I will go over this when my semester ends.


	2. Chapter 2

"That's life. Whichever way you turn, fate sticks out a foot to trip you." - Al Roberts (Tom McNeal, _Detour,_ 1945)

* * *

He is all sharp angles and dark skies, the words spilling out of his thin lips bright lightning bolts tarnishing the soft interior of the assistant researcher in the lab. Something small and brittle inside of her burns and crumbles as an ember yearns out towards the younger man to shield him from the cold callousness of his superior. She does not, however, act upon this impulse and keeps her hands clasped behind her back. She feels the soft caress of her the black neoprene of her skirt and wonders if she should retreat for the sake of the researcher's pride, but again, decides against such ridiculous instincts and remains on the side.

"M – Miss Prince," Everett's hair is disheveled, poking at his wide forehead. He stalls for a brief moment, wondering if his superior would acknowledge the woman before them before realizing the consideration was beyond his capabilities and sighs. "Did you forget something?"

Diana knows human pride and the precipice upon which masculinity is tethered upon and offers the young man a small smile. "Yes," her knees bend and pick up the suitcase resting on the tiled floor. She strides toward a vacant spot on the laboratory bench and places the bag on top of it. With slender fingers, she unlatches the cases and procures one single, previously ignored file from one of its compartments. "One of the documents was stuck onto another, and I thought you would want all the information at once."

"Oh – oh!" Everett takes the single document. "You really didn't have to come back – it's fine, I doubt we would have – "

"I wanted to," Diana cuts him off. "It was no trouble, believe me," her eyes slide over to the older man hunched over a tablet. His fingers dance over the screen, shooting soft _clicks_ into the otherwise, mostly silent room. She regards the assistant one more time.

"Has Mr. Stark already been relayed the documents?" she asks.

"No," Everett heads over to a special machine. As it swallows up the archaic parchment, a gentle hum begins to penetrate the air. Green lights flicker on and Diana is again displaced by the advancement of the peculiar machine. It copies not only the words but carbon signature, fingerprints, and chemical composition of the ancient document. "We have not heard from him since our first two initial video conferences. He seems to be indisposed," he pauses, stuck on his wording. "I mean, how could you not be? Anyway," he shakes himself from his momentary stupor. "One of his friends, Steve Rogers, personally dropped by the pick up the data on a flash drive."

"Which is a waste of time," the old man, previously hovering over the digital tablet mutters loudly. "There is the internet, does he know that? Or have we truly entrusted our lives into the hands of some cave man?" He is sharp, all angles and piercing verses, and Diana has to steal a breath for herself in order to sway the comparisons from completely conceptualizing themselves in her head.

"Steve Rogers," Diana repeats slowly.

"Captain America," Everett clarifies.

"The wrestler on the television with the colorful spandex suit version of the American flag."

The corners of her lips twitch as she thanks Rourke for his imaginative elaboration. If she ever meets this man, this – _Rogers,_ she swears she will relay the commentary of the renowned professor.

"He has a small exhibit downstairs," Everett adds before she departs. Her hand freezes on the frame, preventing the scanners from signaling the door to slide close. "I – if you want to know more, he's interesting," his voice drops lower at the end of the sentence.

This time, Diana does smile. "Thank you," she decides that time is not of the essence for people like her and lets herself indulge in this small curiosity.

 _Second floor, left wing, the second room on the right –_ she easily sways through the crowd of visiting students and finds the designated section. _First exhibit on the left._ There is a mass of weathered faces and bright eyes, but she is far and tall enough to be able to steal a glimpse of the heading: CAPTAIN AMERICA: FIRST AVENGER.

 _Avenger._

She steps closer to the exhibit and makes out cut-out figure posing courageously in front of the squealing children and fawning women. He has a shield on his forearm, and eyes cast up from the bright flashes of the cameras and phones. Fortunately, her interest did not lie in his face and accomplishments. Instead, she is interested in the man behind the mask and spots the rectangular "note cards" aligned on the side of the exhibit. There are less people there, mostly adults, and they gracefully allow her to step in for a better look. She finds the name _Steve Rogers,_ and is almost completely deterred from pursuing the reading any more. However, she gives it to this man, this superhero, the credit his real being deserves and labors on through the fine lines.

 _Captain America found his humbling beginning in Brooklyn, New York to an impoverished German-Irish family. Steve Rogers was the shadow of the famous Captain America, having already established a reputation in his alleyway fights protecting the Greater Good and least fortunate. His sidekick, James B –_

A pleasant chirp tickles her ears and suddenly, she is back with the museum visitors. Her feet guide her towards a quieter corner as she digs into her skirt pocket for her phone. Her fingerprint addresses the security lock as the screen gives away to a notification: _board dinner._

She glances back at Captain America's resilient figure one more time before she vacates the premises of the museum. It would appear that Captain America had taken an interest in her as well. Despite the soulless gaze, Diana is confident that she knows those blue eyes. She had seen them before.

And she marvels as she sees them again, shifting anxiously from side-to-side; darting at exits, doors, passing faces – _Captain America,_ she thinks, is a paranoid man under all the bravado. She wonders if she should make an acquaintance with him, but decides he was such a man that she name being associated with.

"Enjoying the evening, Miss Prince?" Diana's back straightens as she slowly turns to fix the unsuspecting woman with a pleasant smile. Her bright red hair is a flame among the suits of black.

"Yes, I am, Miss?"

"Potts," the redhead fills in. "Pepper Potts, but you can just call me Pepper. It's wonderful to meet you, I was convinced that you wouldn't come tonight." Pepper's eyes are resting on her, but Diana does not miss the glance that she throws at the hero in the corner.

"I would never miss an opportunity to support a charity," Diana easily replies. "Especially during times like this."

"Yes," Pepper admits. "It was all Tony's idea actually, but he's," her body swivels to face the crowd in front of them.

"Recovering?" Diana supplies. She nods at the woman's tangled hands. "I understand – he deserves it," she waves at the people in front of them. "Saving the world can take a lot out of any man, even if he _is_ Iron Man."

"Yes, well," Pepper shakes her head and lets out a small laugh. "Thank you, Miss Prince. I do thank you for contribution and hope you enjoy the rest of the evening." She steps back but stays in place.

"I think he would like it better if you called him by his first name, Steve," she inserts before letting her lithe form disperse into the crowd of attendees.

"Steve?" Diana repeats.

"Yes, ma'am?" Diana freezes for a millisecond as she takes in her new encounter. _Captain America,_ her brain logs for her. Steve Rogers.

"Please, Diana is fine," she extends out a hand and is only slightly surprised by his gallantry to firmly accept it with a shake. Knowing his history, she wonders if she should be affronted by his manners – were women not acknowledged more forwardly back then? Or had he acclimated already to the times? She pushes these musings out of her head as she decides to appreciate the equality in his actions.

"Steve Rogers," the blue-eyed man holds her gaze but breaks it every few seconds. "I apologize if I scared you, ma' – Diana," he corrects. "I was just looking for Pepper and I saw her with you but now –"

"She is not," Diana casts off a quick searching glance through the mass of guests. But just as she is about to terminate the conversation with him, the lights are suddenly extinguished and replaced by one solitary spotlight fixed on the base of the grand entrance staircase. There, Pepper Potts stands alone with a small microphone attached to the neckline of her verdant gown.

"Welcome, everyone," she graces the attentive crowd with a smile. "First of all, I want to thank you all for coming to this gala tonight – it means a lot to Stark Industries and I, especially, to see that the world is still willing to come together to help others out in such dark times. Tony," she says. "Regretfully cannot be here tonight. He wanted to come, believe me," she continues. "But I thought it would be best for him to rest after he helped save the world." The crowd is merciful and laughs at that note. "Again, I thank you all for coming and to please just simply enjoy tonight's activities." And with that, the lights return dimmed, and the orchestra resumes its music. The attendants have all vacated the center, designated dance floor and a few couples and strangers pair up to immerse themselves in the music. Diana is about to step back until both she and Steve spot a frazzled Pepper Potts making her way towards then. To the passing eye, her strides read easy but quick – however, Steve and Diana know better and stand ready to receive her.

"I just received a notification from JARVIS – there has been a minor burglary at the museum. I know you're –"

Steve places a palm on Pepper's bare shoulder and gives it a squeeze. "I'll look into it, just text me the address and I'll head over right away –"

"N- no, wait," Pepper glances over at Diana. "It's not too serious, and I'm afraid of the sentiment that would drive to the public if they see Captain America out again so soon after the invasion, so could you, would you mind?"

"No theatrics," Steve acknowledges. "I'll go as is then. You'll get no unwanted publicity if I go as Steve Rogers. No one has ever really paid him much attention before."

"Until now," Diana slowly elucidates. She turns to fully face her two companions. She is reaching for something, and her mind is berating her for being so reckless, but she remembers the blue eyes in the picture and beams at the two. "Everyone knows your history, Captain," she reasons. "But who is Diana? That, they do not know," she looks at Pepper. "If you want to preserve peace, then I can go. It is only minor, right?"

Steve steps forward. "No –" his gaze isn't shy anymore. "No, definitely no – you're just a _civilian –"_

 _"_ Who is a nobody but that will be fine," Pepper meets Diana's alighted dark eyes. "You can take the lead, if you don't mind, but Steve will still be with you in the background. If anything goes wrong, it's him in charge then –"

"Pepper –"

"- and by that I mean if you see any sign of danger, you are gone. You leave the building, leave Steve, and seek out safety, okay?" Pepper grasps her arm. "Okay?"

"Okay," Diana agrees, then looks at the man before her. He refuses to meet her gaze, but after a moment of mulling it over, he looks up and nods. "Okay. I'll be in the shadows, got it."

"Thank you," Pepper squeezes Diana's arm and Steve's hand. "Good luck and stay safe, you two." She watches as they reciprocate with a nod and both quickly vacate the event room. Once they hit the elevator the main lobby, Steve leads them over the coat check and switches out his black jacket for his brown leather. He looks over at Diana and assesses her clothes. She is in a sleek, midnight blue jumpsuit with tall black heels. She easily puts a few inches over his already towering figure and he quickly looks away when she raises an appraising eyebrow at him.

"Are you sure you can…?" his voice trails as she shoulders on a long black trench coat and pulls out her phone.

"Pepper texted me," she ignores his previous question, instead more concerned on how the woman had her contact. "It's the American Museum of Natural History. Your car or mine?" she throws patiently.

Steve blanches, "M- mine?" he reaches out into his pocket and takes out the keys to his motorcycle. "Yeah, mine," he leads the way to the parking valet who has already pulled out his ride from the side. Unlike the other cars, his was small enough to store nearby. He thanks the worker and gives the helmet to Diana. "I hope you don't mind."

Diana stares at the helmet, but regardless puts it on as Steve swings his leg over the motorcycle and starts the engine. He goes taut for a few seconds as Diana's long arms slide around his torso. "Ready?" he says. He does not hear her reply, but shoots off into the night as he feels the cool helmet move against his back.

…

When he drives the noise of the world disappears as he steers himself and the motorcycle towards an unforeseen destination in the jungles of New York City. The bright yellow taxis and large, obnoxious neon signs all become a backdrop in his pursuit as his mind forms a tunnel vision of motor commands and actions. His body melts into the roaring bike and its as if he is back in his time, his world, of roller rinks and dames with classic curls. But tonight, he does not form that same sublime focus. Tonight, there is a stranger embracing him and a burglary to investigate in the museum he had just visited.

He guides the bike through one last sharp turn and stops just a corner street shy from the museum. He stops by the sidewalk and kicks the peg of the bike down. He balances both his body and the motorcycle for Diana's convenience as she gets off the bike. He knows her, just like he suspects she knows him, but still refrains from commenting on the past. Instead, he takes his key out and follows the languid saunter of the strange woman.

There is something old about her, something that screams of archaic Parisian grace and gruff London bars. He stays to the shadows as she evades the front entrance and breaches the museum through the back with a previously hidden keycard. She throws the door open wide enough to allow Steve time to slip in without tailgating her heels.

The museum is dark, the only light coming from the fixtures casting dark shadows against the bones and wax figures decorating the museum. She moves past them without heed and reaches the door that he had followed the assistant through. This time, Diana is obtrusive to the silence with her heels, but they do not hinder her grace as she walks up the steps and enters the hallway of the lab. It is mostly quiet in the corridor aside from the lights and soft mull of street noise coming from one of the labs. Diana strides towards the lab that Steve had just been in and steps through the broken glass of the sliding door.

Steve remains in the shadows as he waits for her signal. He instincts gnaw at him to check on her after a minute has elapsed, but before he can make the decision to broach the crime scene, her dark head of large curls pops through the broken door. "Come in," she says, and Steve follows. He enters the lab, and realizes that the burglary might have been more complex than Pepper had let on.

His eyes sweep the lab. To the naked eye, it seems untouched, but Steve has mapped out the room during his visit and spots the telltale signs of someone having rummaged through the cabinets and computer. Diana heads over the switch and flips it up. White lights pour from above and bathe the room in the same sterile brightness that Steve had initially seen it in.

"Do not touch anything," Diana says slowly, walking towards him. "I have already notified Pepper about the situation. She has called investigators from the company to come in and do a full examination of the room. She would like us to remain her just in case the person returns."

Steve looks up from the bottles of chemicals perfectly aligned on a shelf. "What were you doing here earlier today?" he asks. He watches her hand freeze from pulling on her trench coat.

She turns to him with a feline serenity. "Delivering the documents that Stark had sent you to collect."

Steve pauses as the sound of engines come to a halt outside of the museum. "Do you think that's what they came here to steal?"

Diana stills against the broad window's view of the city. "I suspect that it is what they have stolen," she gives. "But I also think there is more to this than meets the eye, Steve Rogers."


	3. Chapter 3

"Did you ever want to forget anything? Did you ever want to cut away a piece of your memory or blot it out? You can't, you know."

\- Al Roberts (Tom McNeal, Detour, 1945)

* * *

He's already run through the standard circuit of questions in his head, but has never once felt provoked enough to ask them aloud. This woman, this strange, terrifyingly beautiful woman is more than meets the eye. Temporarily, he toys with the idea of attempting to draw her – but Diana Is both motion and paused time and he has never had much practice drawing juxtapositions with lead and charcoal; so, he puts a halt to the tangent thought and refocuses on the helmet. There is nothing around him except for obnoxiously flashing red and blue lights and faceless bodies in uniform. He readjusts the strap of his helmet again so that it may fit his head. He does this routinely yet never puts it on. Instead, he stows it away in the compartment under the leather seat and kicks up the stand the motorcycle is leaning against. He plugs in his key, turns it, feels the vehicle rev, and exhales. Again, everything melts into one mixture of bright lights, dark buildings, and sticks of people. As he descends into the gaping hole near the Stark building, Steve has to consciously forget the ghost touch of fingers clasped against his abdomen before he gets off his bike. He turns the key but leaves it in as the accented drone of the reinstated JARVIS welcomes him back.

He thanks the AI while mentally initiating the countdown to Tony's arrival. However, when he reaches the top floor with the open kitchen, he does not see the affluent philanthropist nursing a bottle on the countertop. Instead, he sees his partner with a placid smile on her lips and a clear cup of water in hand. He nods at Pepper as he walks past her for the fridge. She stops him by sliding the glass of water towards him.

"Thank you," he nods at Pepper.

The redhead woman is under dressed now, sporting a matching pajama set decorated with spots of cats toying around with some yarn. She waits for him to finish his drink before she takes the glass and puts it in the sink made out of chrome. "I was hoping you would be out longer, but I guess I was expecting too much for the first night, right?"

Steve is smart. He has been through a plethora of difficult and taxing situations – a few of them being similar to the one occurring right now. "Pepper?" One word answers are safe, reflective questions are even better.

"Diana, Steve!" Pepper bursts, a teasing smile at her lips. She crosses her arms and leans forward. "I saw the way she looked at you, and –"

"Pepper –"

"No, Steve," the woman shakes her head. "You stop, but –" she turns on the faucet and starts to clean the cup. "I'll drop it for now. For you. And because of the investigation."

Steve feels himself visibly deflate at the change of subject as he grabs a stool to sit on. He is on the opposite side of the counter, feeling more content with the physical barrier in between then. "They already found something?"

"No," Pepper turns off the water and puts the glassware away to dry. "Our team is running tests as we speak and any data or evidence they find won't come up until tomorrow morning. But beside that, I think we should keep this low right now. I've already gotten the NYPD a cover story to keep the burglary out of Tony's sight, so if you could do the same?"

Ever since the ascent of Loki and the temporary disbanding of their ragtag group, Tony had retreated to his upstairs penthouse without word. Occasionally, he would stop by and participate wordlessly in a workout with him, but even in those sparse moments something would trigger him and he would find words, sharp and true, to throw at Steve. In return, Steve would try his best to shoulder on the insults but his emotions have always been intangible things that were unreceptive to any conditioning that the serum could have provided. JARVIS always ended up being the referee trying to keep them apart with Pepper being the only one who could persuade Tony to finally give up. And even then, Iron Man only surrendered by hiding himself in his laboratory downstairs.

"You have my word, Pepper," Steve assuages. He could do this – for Pepper and for Tony, he would hide things for the both of them. He owes that much to the callous-lipped man and his partner.

"And Diana's number?" Pepper inquires, catching him off guard. She laughs at his shock-induced silence. "She has asked to stay updated on the investigation, you know? And she is such an elusive woman," Pepper mumbles.

Steve refuses to add to the comment. "And did you agree?" he asks, because that is what is important. Pepper's reply. Diana is doubtlessly outstanding and breathtakingly deceiving, but she is still just a civilian.

"Yes," Pepper admits. "But she has limited clearance, don't worry – it's just that, Diana Prince has always been an elusive woman with deep ties to the French aristocracy and art history." Two things which heavily prevailed in Pepper's world – the upper class and its whims for art. And Pepper has made it known that she does appreciate the latter more than the former– has even asked him for a commission or two from time to time. Yet through her flowery words, he knows she is digging for something, but he decides that he will give her this moment for now.

"That's good, that's –"

"Tony will also be moving back to California," she adds quickly. "He's going to be leaving tomorrow morning when it's the least busy. We both think the fresh air will do him good there, and I'll be following his leave next Monday."

"Kicking me out, Pepper?" Steve jokes as he crosses his arms.

Her cheeks flush as she shakes her head. "No, never, Steve. You're welcome to stay, JARVIS will be here to let you in and out. I'm just letting you know, and anyway, with this burglary going on I was actually hoping you wouldn't mind being here to oversee its progress."

"I will," he agrees. "Stay here and look after it. Don't worry, Pepper. You go take care of Tony, he needs you." Steve knows the man will never admit it, but he knows the cycle that Tony is falling into and knows that no man deserves kind of aftermath.

Pepper softly smiles as both she and Steve stand up to their full height. "Thank you, Steve. Thank you."

He lets her walk toward the elevator first and stops just beyond its doors. "Aren't you going to bed yet?" she asks.

Through the elongated, clear windows, he can feel the noises of New York City drumming against his back; he can feel its husky, wintry breeze stroking his cheeks, and its beaming lights grinning tauntingly at his tired eyes. "No, not yet," he steps back. "Goodnight, Pepper."

The redhead mimics him and takes a step back as well. She is golden under the fluorescent lights of the elevator. "Goodnight, Steve."

When the metal doors close, Steve lets out sigh. His shoulders wither, his eyelids droop, and he signs at JARVIS thankfully at the dimming lights. He turns around and saunters towards the large windows of the room and crosses his arms. New York City is still abundant with life despite the recent chaos, and he has to give it to the city and its people for its obstinacy.

" - than meets the eye, Steve Rogers."

Diana Prince. She is not a ghost, but her being haunts him like one. She is at the crevices of his mind, pushing nostalgia in his limbs and the sight of familiar red lips to the forefront of his thoughts. She knew him, recognized him from his staring at the museum, and had doubtlessly researched him thereafter. He could not fault her for that wary precaution and decides the next time someone catches his eye, he should just ignore his gut instinct and look away and walk on. Even if it meant ignoring fires that were strong enough to burn whiskey dreams and trembling hands.

Steve steps away from the cityscape as his chest constricts with an all too-familiar pain. It takes much self-control from him to keep from reaching for his phone, dialing the numbers, and directing the ever-pleasant voice of the nightshift nurse to check up on Peggy. Strong, astute, Peggy; where he has missed decades, she holds the universe in her hands. He holds onto the vision of her smile that beckoned home and sanctuary and goes to sleep with it in his head.

When the next morning arises, her smile has melted into elusive gold and his first encounter is with an invisible voice informing him that Tony Stark has left for California and that Pepper Potts has left to take care of her list of meetings for the day. No one else is in the residential half of the building, but Pepper has instructed him to prepare the breakfast she had left behind in the kitchen and thus, he is welcomed to proceed there.

Steve puts on a new clean shirt and shoves on a pair of persistent blue jeans as he adheres to the routine placed before him. When he sees the fruit shake and toast waiting for him in the empty white room, he almost coils against the sight. But he doesn't. He reaches for one of the top cabinets and procures a disposable cup. He pours the shake inside and balances the toast between his front teeth as he reaches for his motorcycle keys left on the countertop from last night. He bids JARVIS farewell for the day and takes the elevator to the garage. Hopping onto his bike, he easily speeds through the traffic of New York City and finds himself in front of a retro-styled boxing gym.

He doesn't know if he should be surprised by the lithe woman delivering a quick procession of punches at a dark bag, but he does know that there is a clock ticking and he only has a handful of seconds to dive between her and the wall before bricks and debris fly at the both of them.

There is minimum screaming and a force pushing against his chest. Steve instinctually rolls over to allow the woman beneath him some space. She rises quickly, assesses his clenched eyes, and looks over the damage done. The gym had been mostly vacant given the hour and thankfully, no one but them had been in the vicinity of the blast.

"Are you okay?" Steve rumbles, as he too, rises up and takes a quick sweep of the situation. The rest of the civilians are shaken, some displaying varying levels of shock and anger, but for the most part, he too, comes to the conclusion that no harm was really done.

"No thanks to you," Diana nods at him. Mindlessly, her fingers dance across his shoulders to pick at the debris and dust settling over his jacket, stilling Steve's thoughts for a cool, winter moment.

"I didn't take you for a boxer," Steve gives as she moves away to examine the origin of the blast site. He notes the various cellphones out and starts the timer for his departure. He lets Diana pick around as he steps through the hole in the wall. There is no one in the alleyway, no abandoned clues. Just more red bricks, large piles of black garbage bags, and the passing eyes of morning commuters peeping through the opening. He really can't declare a chase on the site, time has evaded them, and based off the small black pieces he had spotted on the ground – the bomb could have been there hours or even days before the blast time.

"Do you come here often?" Diana's voice rings clear in the alley. She has donned a black track jacket to cover her.

"Sometimes, not enough," Steve answers. Not enough to endanger the gym and its members.

"But good enough for them," Diana starts walking towards one opening. "Are you coming, Captain?"

Steve steps over a few more rubble before he is by her side. "Where are we going?"

Diana scans the street, and Steve quickly picks out her intentions and beckons for her to follow him back to his bike. "Well, breakfast first," Diana supplies. "And then, back to the museum."

"You think they found something already? Stark's –"

Diana shakes her head as she takes the helmet from his hand. "They are looking at the wrong thing, history is the lesson all humans fail to learn from."

"And of the bomb? You think it's all connected?" Steve starts the engine, and this time, he is less surprised by her encircling arms. He feels the helmet nod against his back as he pulls off onto the road.

"What's for breakfast?" He does not know where this woman is going. He can't follow her head, but his routine has been broken, and movement prevents thoughts.

"My hotel, I will guide you." Diana directs him for a few miles until they are in the valet of a large, black glass building. Steve passes his keys over the attendant as Diana swipes them into the lobby's awaiting elevator.

"Security here is –"

"Good," Diana agrees. They quickly ascend through fifteen floors of hotel rooms before they are let into a winding hallway with only four doors. Diana touches her keycard to one of the dark boxes adjacent to one of the doors and with a resonating beep, it sweeps backward giving way to a decent-sized living room and mini-kitchen. "Croque monsieur ou croque madame?"

"Is there a difference?" Steve halts from inspecting the magazines on the glass coffee table. He watches as Diana takes out eggs, ham, and cheese from the slender fridge. "Can I help?"

"Not much," Diana levels him an assessing look. "I think croque madame for the both of us," she decides. "You can help make the sauce?" Steve joins her in the tight kitchen and she slides the chopping board towards him. Together, they make quick work of soaking and grilling the bread slices.

Steve takes the job of washing the dishes as Diana prepares the water for their tea and coffee respectively. No words transpire between them, but there is an easiness to their actions that Steve takes solace in. Nothing but the steady stream of water and aroma of their food dictate his thoughts and actions. And he is all but taken away at suddenly finding himself seated at the table with a stranger of a woman serving him his coffee.

"Thank you," he stumbles out. He looks at the woman in front of them carefully cutting her sandwich apart to allow for the heat of the melted cheese inside to steam out.

"Repayment," she offers. "For saving me this morning."

"Well, it's the job description, ma'am." Steve welcomes the burn of the coffee against his esophagus.

Diana laughs. "Job description, huh? Of being a hero? Is that what you are, Steve Rogers?"

Steve knows she is cajoling him, but the words hit deeper than they should. "No," he quietly says. "Not a hero. Just one of the good guys."

"Good, hm?" Diana echoes, but does not follow up with another question. They finish both their meals quietly and easily. "Is not everyone good, then?" She does not wait for his answer as she rises up and checks the clock. "The museum should be open soon, would you mind – ?"

"I'll wash, it's fine. Go get ready," Steve begins to collect the plates and cups as she brushes past him.

When she next emerges, she is donned in jeans and leather, and has a tablet in her hands. She looks up at him and appraises his job with a grateful nod. "The Starks team has found no outlier DNA evidence – just Rourke's and Dr. Javier's."

"Not even ours?" Steve asks.

Diana gives a slow smile, but otherwise, does not look up from her device. "No, and I suppose it is because we did not stay there for too long. It is strange, however, that only Sterns' and Dr. Rourke's DNA came up. They could not have been the only ones to work in that laboratory." She puts the tablet down.

"It's possible," Steve shrugs. "Tony doesn't let us in his lab sometimes when he gets caught up his work."

"But that is his lab, this was the museum's – they did not own the room, and they could not have been so careful with the glass work," Diana argues.

"Unless it was intentionally done," Steve drawls out. He reaches for his discarded jacket and quickly walks toward the door. "What if someone at the museum was responsible for it? Can you pull up the gathered data again?"

Diana easily maintains the same pace as him as she takes out her phone and opens up the report again. "Aside from a seventy-year-old janitor, it's still just Rourke's and Sterns' DNA coming up," she stops as they enter the elevator and fixes him with an incredulous look. "Are you saying that it could have been one of them?"

"Who else could have done the work if Stark's team only came up with those three results? It explains why everything was mostly clean. The glass was just –"

"Intentional. To throw us off," Diana finishes. She returns to her phone. "Dr. Javier Rourke lives not too far from here, and Everett Sterns is closer to the city center."

"Then we visit Dr. Rourke first."


	4. Chapter 4

"Dead men are heavier than broken hearts."

\- Raymond Chandler, The Big Sleep

* * *

Burn.

At one point, she wanted the world to burn – and every time she thought this, her heart would palpitate and she would step back and reassess: relive, return, run. It was an interminable cycle that kept her feet firm in Paris, and her eyes set on the Eastern horizon. Diana is many things, but forgetful is not one of them, and she has chased so many directions other than the one that constantly calls her attention, that it became aggravatingly clear that east was the way she should go. But she hasn't pursued it. Not until now. And she hadn't imagined that going east would mean sitting next to a historical hero in the back of a raging taxi driver's cab; their chauffeur is flippantly ignoring New York City's legal speed limit, but she doubts that she should be so concerned with that fact.

Rather, she figures she should be more perturbed by the blood on her companion's hands, oxidizing to a familiar iron red. She figures this, but she doesn't do more than glance out the , she wonders if she should have let the world burn. Then perhaps grievances like this could have been avoided.

"Pepper said the police have been monitoring Sterns's apartment since the call. His tenant said that he left early morning and hasn't yet returned," Steve's voice is quiet against the muddled cursing of their driver. Diana continues to peruse the ever-changing scenery. She recalls the books, the American Dream with the white picket fence and briefly wonders if Steve had ever yearned for that. She had, at some point in her life.

"Do you think he did it?" She recalls the frozen memories, the smile on his daughter's face; her graduation cap hanging precariously off a hook, and the cold cup of noodles sitting on the marbled countertop. Dr. Javier Rourke had been an imposing figure, calloused to propriety, and insensitive to his assistant. However, his home spoke of another man, another life, another white picket fence that had burnt to ash.

Diana figures that Steve probably never imagined that life for him. She thinks he probably dreamt of Sunday mornings, four white walls, stray sunlight, organized drawers, and brewing coffee; not fences, borders, and finish lines. That man lived in the present, never looked ahead – never saw the future. Never will see the future. She wonders when the ghost of him will stop lingering in the abscesses of her thoughts.

"- too early to say," Diana catches Steve replying. She watches as he leans toward the driver to tell him to stop. "We can walk the rest of the way, thank you." Manners. Steve Rogers is all decorum and politeness; cool edges and unending patience.

Diana does not wait for Steve to finish paying for the ride and pushes open the car door. She steps out, catches a whiff of New York street nuts, and begins sauntering towards the assistant's apartment building. Her strides her long, but Steve Rogers makes easy work catching up to her.

"You coul – down!" She hears the warning first, before she feels the stroke of heat and the smell of smoke. She hears screaming next through the ringing in her ears and finds a familiar leather jacket covering her sight. It is pulled away just as bodies begin rushing past her and the sound of sirens penetrate the air.

"Wha – what?" She looks ahead and finds Steve's broad back being swallowed by a gray fog. She catches his eyes as he looks back, and does not have to puzzle through his muffled shout. He wants her to stay back. She does not.

Diana steps to side just before she collides with a woman and begins a steady trek towards the site of smoke and screams. Her ears are beginning to recover, but her eyes are only starting to see what they can't hear. There is blood and tears on unfamiliar faces, downturned bodies, slabs of cement, and broken glass. There are police clustering at the end of the tunnel of chaos and through them, she too pushes past until she sees an open glass door and Steve's frame.

"I told you to stay back!" Steve shouts at her as he easily moves a fallen beam off of a wooden door. There are blue uniforms rushing past them: ashen faces with purposed strides. Diana watches Steve call at the pounding fists of the blocked door to step away before he kicks it open. Sooty faces pour out as Steve ushers them to quickly evacuate the room. Their panic is temporarily assuaged by Steve's demeanor and it is during this momentary calm that the logical part of their minds begin to tinker, work, follow.

Diana lets Steve be with the victims, knowing that her role was not needed with them, and tries to find the closest stairway in the lobby. She finds one coughing more fire and smoke into the room. Having that route blocked off, she looks to the side and finds the elevator, its doors open, and moves toward it; it's a foolish errand, but she feels compelled. (Inspired? In the moment, there is no difference). Yet before she can step closer, an arm falls and bars her from any further progress.

"I told you to stay back, Diana," Steve's eyes are a brilliant blue against the gray smoke. His trademark brown jacket is nowhere to be seen, and there are crinkles by the corners of his eyes. Unfortunately for him, Diana is not a follower and pushes his arm down, steeling him in place with her own hard eyes.

"I did stay back," she acquiesces. "But you were too slow and there are more people that need help," she makes a point to move past him. "You need my help."

"Diana –" Steve looks as if he has more to say, but he has already pushed and she has shoved back - so Steve has nothing else in his jargon and can only clench his jaw as he nods his head. In the elevator before them, sounds of frantic shouts resonate through the small doorway. "Just stay behind me," he gives in. "Please." He tears off a sleeve from his shirt and offers it to her. "To keep the smoke out."

Diana finds herself relieved that Steve doesn't push for a longer argument and takes the piece of fabric to tie around the lower half of her face; she should dampen it to provide more protection from the smoke, but does not see a water fountain in the vicinity. Her safety is the least of her worries though, and she shoulders through it. She lets Steve lead them into the elevator and watches as he jumps and pries open the latch on the top. He casts the metal to the side and easily pulls himself onto the top. Diana is about to mimic his actions until his hand reaches down. "Come on."

She takes it and lets Steve haul her on the top. Above them lies a huge column of black and cracks of light pilfering through silver, burnt doors. There is a railing on the side which Steve takes too. She follows him as he gets to the first set of doors and pries them open. His footing is sound and he looks down at her. "You take care of this level?" he appears to be asking, but she knows where his patience ends and frowns. Nevertheless, she swings herself onto the floor and begins calling out to the people trapped on it. She shouts for them to get down on the ground and begin crawling towards her. She feels the time, the heat from the levels overhead, and smiles at the tear-stained face that finds her first.

"Are you all by yourself?" she asks the little girl. She is young, around six or seven, and has nothing but fear and a cracked phone in her hand. "Do you know how many people live on this floor with you?" The complex didn't seem too big from the outside, but she knows better than to trust firsthand observations.

"Fo – four, but the ceiling it," the girl seems to choke on her words but after a few seconds swallows the terror away and continues, "f – fell." Her eyes dart back toward the direction she came from. "Dad was in his room when it happened. He was taking a – a – na – ap," she gulps. "I tried calling him, but –"

"It's okay, you're okay," Diana rubs the grime off her cheeks. "And the others?"

"Billy is –"

"Here!" Diana looks behind the girl and finds an older boy pulling something from the thickening smoke. The little girl gasps, but Diana is past the shock and quickly aids the boy haul over the injured woman toward the elevator doors.

"Billy?" she looks the boy over. He looks to be about sixteen or seventeen, and his eyes harden every time he looks down at the woman. "There's a ladder embedded into the wall, and you," she looks at the little girl. "You are going to climb down with me and then Billy, you're going to gently lower this woman so I can catch her, okay? Can you do that for me?" She is putting a lot of responsibility on the boy, but she can't see an easier way to do things.

Both of the children nod their heads and Diana lets out a sigh. "Okay –"

"Rose," the girl supplies.

Diana smiles at her. "Okay, Rose, I'm going to go down first and call for you to join me, okay?" she turns around to face the child and blindly lowers her legs to find purchase on the ladder. Once her feet have hit the protruding steel, she quickly slides her body down so that she is back in the chamber. There is no more screaming above them and Steve is nowhere in sight. "Okay, Rose! You can come down now."

The younger child is unhesitant and easily slides into the space between the ladder and Diana's body. Together, the two maneuver back onto the top of the elevator. It creaks at their added weight, but Diana smothers the sound from Rose's ears by covering them by pretending to smooth the girl's locks. "Okay, Billy -!"

"Diana!" She has a moment to reach, and she pushes her whole momentum in to it to grab Rose's body and cling onto the steel cable wire. Her palm is hardly large enough to encompass the wire, but fortunately, she manages to hold on. Above them rains debris and flickers of dying embers. She feels the sweat on her brow sliding more than she feels Rose's trembling. Focus, she needs to be focused.

"Diana!" Her name echoes both from above and below, and in the increasing hot fog, she can make out both Steve's and Billy's faces. She looks back down at her charge. Shaking, Rose's face is pressed into her side and Diana grits her teeth as her weight begins to pull her down.

"Listen, Rose, I'm going to swing us over to the wall and drop you into my friend's arms." Diana talks loud enough so that both males peering at her can hear her instructions. She doesn't have to look at their faces to know their reactions. The girl tightens her arms around Diana. "Listen," she tries again. "You know Captain America?" she barely receives an imperceptible nod. "Well my friend is Captain America, but don't tell anyone okay? He doesn't have his mask on. He will catch you, I promise." Her voice is softer now and manages to coax the green eyes to look up at her.

Once more, Rose nods and Diana makes do with her vow. Quickly, she begins accumulating momentum until her feet begin to brush against the opposite wall. With one powerful kick, they are sailing through the air and without a wasted breath, she deposits Rose into Steve's waiting arm just as the cable gives and her grip slackens against the wire. She expects pain and then a bitter chill, but she gets only the former.

A blast of shattering pain resonates throughout her whole body, stemming mostly at her head as her whole side and head slams against the wall, but despite that, her fingers instinctively curl around Steve's forearm as he pulls her up. Once she can grasp the edge of the floor with her other hand, Diana heaves her own body up and coughs. The room is still moving, her vision is a blur of worried eyes, gray smoke, and Billy's shouts.

" –outside, I'll get him –"

"Wait," Diana grasps Steve's arm again and meets his brilliant blue eyes once more. "He's not the only one up there. I'm coming –"

"Diana." Exhaustion lines Steve's words, but her world is refocusing again and she pushes herself back up to her full height.

"You can't do this alone," Diana stands her ground and looks at Rose. "The firefighters are right outside, Rose –" the tiny girl shakes her head.

"I'm not leaving without Billy," she repudiates. Beside her, Steve sighs as he rolls his shoulders back.

"Let's get this over with," he resigns, he knows better than anyone in the room that arguments were not worth wasted time. "On my lead –" he takes a running start before propelling his whole body across the gap. Diana doesn't have to hear his body slamming against the ladder before she too, takes the leap and mercifully has his hand preventing her from another collision. In between the fiery embers sparking above their heads, they exchange a heated glance before Steve begins climbing onto Billy's floor. Blood is pounding in her hears and she can't see no more than a few inches ahead, but she manages to keep up with the super soldier and joins him just as he is hoisting the fainted woman over his shoulder.

The two of them disappear back into the elevator shaft before she and Billy. "Are you ready?" Diana doesn't know why she asks, but appreciates his bravery as they too begin their descend.

There is no easy way to cross the gap without a place to buy momentum, but Diana knows luck does not serve anyone , especially for people in a burning building, and makes the decision before she can regret it. She reaches for something behind her and finds comfort in feeling the familiar woven fibers of her lasso. There is no way to dull its golden glow once it has been unwrapped, so she assesses Steve Rogers one more time before she instructs Billy to close his eyes.

There is disbelief, but the boy listens instantaneously and Diana quickly unfurls the rope bound against her back and throws it at Steve's wide eyes. Surprise colors him, but his senses have always been stronger and he catches the other end of the golden lasso just as the ladder begins getting too hot to hold onto and Diana swings over to him using it.

They collide into each other, a tangle of limbs and gold, but Diana is saved from most of the mess as she rolls off of Billy and Steve. She makes fast work of rewrapping the rope and stowing it away just as Billy and Steve come back to their senses. They groan as Diana musters up the child into her arms. The building lurches beneath her feet, and she does not have to credit anything but the fire for the cause.

"Quick!" she shouts over at the two males. She tucks Rose's bewildered head into her shoulder just as Steve pushes Billy toward her and sweeps up the fainted woman into her arms. They escape the building as it gives one final groan and the beams begin falling down.

Bursting through the entrance, Diana trips over her own feet but she manages to regain balance and rushes toward the nearest ambulance. The paramedics respond fast and most attend to the child first while one approaches Diana. However, she waves them away just as Steve joins her with Billy and the woman. More medics swarm around them and easily take their charges away.

"Diana," Steve starts as the crowd of officials leave them. He takes short gulps of air in, but otherwise, is unfazed by the recent rescue. "Do you know how dangerous that was?"

Her gaze is with the child, Rose, but she knows Steve's own eyes are searching her face, looking for a sign of consciousness, practicality. "You promised Pepper, you told her and you –"

She turns on him. "You listen to me Steve Tre – Rogers," she spits out. She can feel nothing but the heat of the burning building against her back and remember nothing but decades' worth of memories, and she begins to wish again that she had let it all burn. "You are no one to lecture me about my promises and of who I have sworn them to. I know what I have said and who I have told them to –"

"Diana –"

"You would let the world burn if it meant saving only a few?" She stares him down - a feat unimaginable with his height but she does it, and watches as his face falls and briefly she remembers that this man has missed decades of which she had all watched and felt.

"We –"

"Can't save everyone in this war."

She is looking at Steve, this renowned Captain America, but all she hears are his words, their fight, a different fire - a past life.

She turns again, and this time it is away from him. "Tell Pepper that I am sorry that I broke my promise to her." And in the midst of panic, soot, and broken glass, she finds the path leading back home and walks away.

East.

He hailed from the east, and so far that direction has brought her nothing but sweating nightmares and pompous American heroes.

* * *

A/N: Honestly, I don't know what happened to this chapter but Diana's voice took over and well - there ya have it.


	5. Chapter 5

"You don't understand. I coulda had class. I coulda been a contender. I could've been somebody..."

\- Terry Malloy, On the Waterfront (1954)

* * *

"You would let the world burn if it meant saving only a few?"

When he is finally cleared by a medic, Steve is halted by the young girl's tiny voice. He gives her what he hopes is not a bleak smile and saunters over to her bedside. The tenants they did save were all amassed into the nearest hospital – some were faring better than others, and Rose was fortunate to have only made out with a few scratches and mild burns.

"Where's Diana?" she asks.

Steve recalls dark locks, vivid eyes, and the force of weighted words and shakes his head. "She needs time to rest too," he lies for her. He also recalls the golden lasso but the past weeks have been a waterfall of new information and he is more bothered by her words than the possibility of her having powers. The twenty-first century, it seems, has more than a handful of heroes these days. But hero? Can she really be called one?

"She saved you, didn't she?" he grins at the little child. He palms her messy auburn locks to stave off her other questions and pretends to forget about some pressing appointment. "You stay out of trouble now, you hear?" he tells her.

"Will I see you again, Mr. Captain America?" Steve rises from his crouched position just as a nurse dressed in blue scrubs walks past the periwinkle veneer.

"Well if New York City is expecting a few more calamities, you bet your sweet heart you will," she checks off Rose's vitals and fixes the flustered hero with a blank stare. "You've been discharged, haven't you, Mr. Rogers? Do us all a favor and stay indoors for a while, will you?" Her words are biting too. "Every time you come out from wherever it is you stay, trouble follows."

Steve doesn't encourage her line of thought for further elaboration and merely flashes Rose one last smile. "I'll see you, Rose." Even as a figurehead, his disposition as Captain America had always been subject to criticism and thrown rotten edibles. So, he shouldn't be so hurt by the nurse's quiet jabs, but still – he shakes his head and veers off toward one of few payphones in the waiting room.

"Hello?"

The voice chalks up against his throat momentarily. "Hi, Pepper –"

"Ohmygod, Steve!" He hasn't known the woman for long, but he can already imagine her deserting her position for a corner of some room or the silence of some corporate hallway; her worry is large enough to fill an ocean – and for a few seconds he ponders how she could still be so patient with Stark with all his trouble and discrepancies. "I saw the news! I saw you –"

"Yes, Pepper –"

"And Diana! Diana, Steve! Is she with you? Is she alright? She looked like she came from the fire too?" Her sentence ends in a question; hoping, pleading him to correct her words. But false safety is all his presence can demand and he knows Pepper deserves better than that.

"No – ye - about her," he pauses, to allow her time to cut in once more, but no words sprout forth from the other end and he sighs. "Diana, is she – you know?" he fumbles for the right terminology. The golden lasso is still very much prevalent in his thoughts, despite all his attempts to compartmentalize it into a corner of his brain for another time. "One of us? Like me?"

"Like you?" Pepper repeats, tone colored by confusion. "You mean, a super-soldier? Enhanced? Not that I know of – no – why - what makes you ask that? Steve, what happened? Where is Diana?"

There are too many leery eyes pressing into his back, forcing Steve to hunch his shoulders against their inquisitive gaze. "I can't say –"

"Or you won't say?"

"Can't," he gives, because he truly does not know the answer to that question. She had marched off after their talk towards a direction which he knew not. "What time will you be back? I'll run through all your questions then."

"Can't say," he almost grins at the lilting tone of her voice. "But I'll try to be home before 12 – I'll have JARVIS inform you."

"That's all I need. Thank you, Pepper. I'll see you tonight," Steve doesn't wait for her reply before he puts the phone back. Rising back to his full height, the realization that he has to leave this temporary sanctuary freezes him. For a moment, he hesitates between the exit and the waiting room. The glass doors of the hospital open and close automatically, and bring forth the heavy air of New York streets into the main waiting room. The previous taunts of the nurse still haunt his head, but he can't stay in the limbo of the hospital. He knows trouble follows him – that conflict and war are his new parents in this life, but he doesn't want to acknowledge it any further than he has to. He is tired; he wants his Brooklyn bricks and the tiny kitchen table piled with bills again. They were so much better than what he has now.

However, his decisions have already been made – with or without his consent, and he knows he has to go. But luck is merciful and he is halted by the shout of stumbling footsteps. "Wait! Captain America, sir!" He turns around to see the caller of his name and finds Billy, the lanky boy from the fire. "Wait, please, sir," his breath is labored, and he leans over his knees to buy his lungs some semblance of rest. "My mom, she's awake," he tells him. His eyes are dark compared to his bright blue. "She wants to talk to you."

Steve sizes him up as they ascend towards his mom's room: Billy. About seventeen or eighteen years-old, has a body riddled with unmediated illnesses and the under-eye bags of an amnesiac. He is just an inch shy of his shoulder and his eyes are perpetually glued to the floor; hands curiously tapping against his thigh with every door they pass. Steve has seen this trick, has seen it performed by his comrades every time they were graced with an abandoned inn to refuge in during the war. Heck, he's seen Barton do this. Not as conspicuously as Billy, but he has seen the archer count exits, memorize landmarks, and acknowledge escape routes first over guests and newcomers; his field of work has trained the practice into his brain. But Billy? Steve remembers fighting for a world that wouldn't imprint that kind of paranoia into young kids' minds.

"She's in here," Billy disrupts Steve's thoughts as he steers them into a room. The sterility of the hospital has never beckoned kind feelings from him, and he suspects that it doesn't cajole any warmer thoughts in his company's head.

"Captain America." Four quick strides cover the distance between the door and the bed. He keeps a proper gap between him and Billy's mother as her eyes flutter open. Gently, he tells her there is no need to strain herself to speak to him. This elicits a crude laugh from the woman.

"And not see the man who saved me in all his glory?" she croons, before giving way to a short chorus of coughing.

"Mom," Billy's cheeks are colored, but he makes no move to do anything else but remain seated on the other side of her bed.

"Oh shush, Billy! It's been years since I had a man –"

"Mom!" This time, Billy is on his feet, looking torn between escorting Steve or himself out of the room.

"Ma'am," Steve can't control the easy smile that parts his lips, despite his own cheeks flushing at the doubtlessly crude comment she was about to make. "Billy said you wanted to talk to me?"

Her eyes creak open, a tepid green amid the pain medicated she is being treated with. "Yes," she answers, suddenly somber. "I wanted to both thank you and ask you, what took you so long to visit me?!" she cackles at the end and her son groans again.

"Ma'am?" Steve is more wary than wondering now as he throws her words around his head again.

"You didn't come to the fire because your senses were tingling, right Captain? You came because you were looking for something? Or –" she cracks one eye open again. "Did you really come over to see me?"

Inquisitive. He will give her that. "You're right, I was hoping to visit Mr. Sterns –"

"And is it because of Everett that there have been police outside our building?" Billy's mom is quick, and knows his target. Despite this, Steve doesn't answer, but he learns he doesn't have to as her eyelids squeeze together tightly. "That man, I should have reported him weeks ago."

"Ma'am?" "Mom?"

Unfortunately, before she can elaborate any further, her body is overwhelmed by fit of furious coughs which quickly escalate her blood pressure. This automatically draws out a nurse from the confines of her station to check up on her. Upon sighting the two men in the room, she frowns and silently ushers them out as she heads for her patient; Steve and Billy stand out in the hallway, both their heads rampant with even more questions than before.

"I'm – I'll call you?" the boy finally draws out. He looks up at Steve; six feet tall, possibly more, and with lines creasing on his forehead – he seems to be tearing through every word that his mom had spoken. He recalls the scientist's name that was mentioned, and tries to identify within himself anything intrinsically incriminating during his past encounters with the recluse of a man. "When she's better, I'll find out and let you know what she was trying to say."

Steve nods appreciatively as he guides them over to the nurses' station. It's vacant, and he doesn't think they will mind his pilfering of one sticky note as he reaches over the desk and scribbles one of Stark Tower's private lines onto the pale-yellow paper; he stifles a small grin at the pen he is using - a bobbling doctor's head with a thickly drawn mustache covering its top lip.

"Thank you," he hands over the piece of paper as he slides the decorated pen back into the mug. "I appreciate the help, Billy," he says. "But please don't press her on my behalf – only when she's well." The fact that she had been able to make connections as is, and direct more suspicion onto Sterns, is enough. Or, he hopes it is enough. He figures that sans Stark's brash intellect demanding the majority of JARVIS' time at the tower, he can utilize some part of its brain to research more on Sterns. He nods at Billy as they exchange farewells; slightly lanky, but there is a gleam in his eye and he waves goodbye at the boy. Steve can easily recognize kindling and the boy deserved better than another fire in his life. He makes a note to himself to have JARVIS redirect Billy's call.

When Steve returns to the Tower after a ponderous walk, the first task that motivates him to leave his thoughts is researching on Everett Sterns. JARVIS is a disembodied voice, he knows, but Steve only addresses it once he reaches the top floor. Among all the levels of the tower, this one is the most special to him – the one that calls his name and reminds him of what had been just a few weeks ago. And what a mess that was. New York City had all but crumbled before his eyes, the tower's glass walls all but broken snowflakes beneath his feet; to this day, he can still recall the distinct crunching noise of glass beneath his feet, the adrenaline deafening his ears, and the defeated, self-proclaimed god outlined on the upper level of the floor. But that was two weeks ago, and New York is a fast city. Its scars and war wounds are still scattered, but its people are robust - persistent. As for the tower, Tony Stark only believes in one kind of ghost, and shook off the damage on his building as a minor inconvenience. He had everything fixed in four days; the remaining money he could spare went to the relief effort occurring down below. This, Pepper, Natasha, and he recognized with only a brief glance at the innovative man.

"JARVIS?" The debris is gone, but Steve's feet still habitually evade the area where Loki had lain.

"Yes, Captain Rogers?"

He stands before the newly installed glass and overlooks the city, feeling smaller rather than bigger. He doesn't think he will ever be able to understand the desire to claim power over all. How could people ever entertain the idea of controlling others? He has more ghosts than he can handle, and undertaking the apparitions of others is just incomprehensible. Then again, he realizes that for that reason, it must be why some dictators are driven to eradicate rather than to understand and save. "Can you track the locations that Everett Sterns frequently visited please?" He doesn't bother to ask for the man's location. If Sterns has been able to orchestrate this much already, then it is safe to conclude that the man has already taken precautions to hide his current coordinates.

"On it. Will that be all Captain Rogers?"

"For now, JARVIS, yes," his shoulders deflate. "Thank you."

"As you wish, sir. I will send the data that I have accumulated to the home drive. You may access it from the bar's console by the sink. Miss Potts also would like to regretfully inform you that she is needed at the office longer than she expected. She will be unable to arrive at her allotted hour of 2300, but would like you to let her know if you will still be present by tomorrow morning at 0500."

Steve saunters over to the bar and easily detects the imbedded console by the sink. He touches a green button and nods to himself, knowing that the AI didn't need his mobile response as much as his vocal one. In a flash, a holographic screen is projected in front of him, and with experience he recognizes it as one of the interactive ones that Stark favors.

"Tell her I'll be here," he replies distractedly. JARVIS has programmed for the info to automatically project, and thus far, Steve has categorized Everett to be a highly unsociable man. He tracks his monetary and digital footprints before he narrows down to one particular location – the public library.

"-thing else?"

He closes out of the hologram and heads toward the elevator again. "No, JARVIS. That will be all." Knowledge. Everett Sterns is a doctoral student who has completely eradicated all his history on the internet. However, he is also a traditional man. And while Steve usually finds his older characteristics ridiculed, he finds the time to finally appreciate its appeal to those of this generation; the library. He almost chuckles to himself as he departs the tower. Everett can destroy all his digital history, but the library still practices in paper and based off his routines, Sterns frequented the library as much as he frequented the lab.

In his epiphany, he almost reaches for his phone to dial Diana. But his fingers instantly recoil from the device as he recalls her departure and the lack of contact information. He briefly wonders if she will return and rejoin him on the case. Pepper had described her as an extremely elusive woman, and that her origins lay in Europe and not America, so he doesn't place much hope on the thought. Before coming to New York, Diana probably dined in the finest of their socialite groups and disappeared in museums and monuments; blending in with the art and only standing out when she so desired. What reason did she have to stay and stave off trouble with him?

Women like her didn't spend time with men like him. That had been the truth back then, and even with augmentations done to him, the fact still stood. Yes, more have thrown their attention at his new build – but Steve is more than a figurehead. He is still a person – a boy with asthma ghosting each stolen breath he dare take, and hesitation infringing upon each action his enhanced muscles made. If anything, Steve is still hesitation and futile bravado masquerading under the shell of Dr. Erskine's work.

Yet Peggy saw that.

She saw it, and paid the price for it. Paid the price of liking a coward using chemicals and science, (which he didn't even understand), to become someone more. Better. Faster. Stronger – but still so weak in many other ways.

"Sulking again, flag boy?" His eyes rise up. He's made it to the library steps amidst his cankerous thoughts without him noticing. He falters for a second, but then remembers Peggy and his failure.

He grins and the action sends a bitter taste down his mouth. "It's what happens when I don't travel with my bike," he easily works with what the woman is giving him. "The wind usually drowns out all my problems."

Natasha Romanoff has stayed off the grid since Thor's and Loki's departure. Yet she stands in front of him, undetected; unawed by bystanders.

She rolls her eyes but otherwise, smiles back at him. "So I've noticed," she cajoles. "Now mind telling me what trouble you managed to dredge up?"

* * *

A/N: Rough. Chapter was rough - but thank god Steve's character finally took over towards the end. Anyway, I really can't wait for you guys to read the next chapter. I have some Steve/Natasha banter that just started pouring out during my outlining and it's a nice break from all the doom and gloom. Don't forget to comment! Please let me know if there are any big issues you guys would like me to address or any parts you want more of. Aside from grammar/structuring I want to improve! Of course, I also do plan to revise as best I can and go over once more when the story is finished.

But also, Question: do you guys think this is a Steve/Diana pairing story?


	6. Chapter 6

"We're buried, ain't we? The only thing is, we ain't dead."

\- Collins (Burt Lancaster, _Brute Force_ , 1947)

* * *

"So aliens invading New York wasn't enough for you?" Steve and the strange woman have been combing through the rows of shelves making small conversation that has been loud enough for nearby visitors and local readers to hear. She doesn't bother to interrupt them, nor does she wait for a lull in their conversation to grab their attention – rather, Diana stays as far away as possible from the duo as she darts in and out of their vicinity. Because like her, they are also hunting down the novels and biographies which had caught the missing, Everett Sterns' attention in the past.

"And what are you doing back in New York?" She catches Steve rebuke. She quietly juggles the handful of books in her arms as she maneuvers her way past the stacks and into the alcoves and lines of tables. There are a few people settled at the tables, but not enough to blend into. Caught between veering off into some corner for a more obscure location, Diana finds the decision already made for her as Steve and his accomplice's bright flash of red hair come peeping into the periphery of her vision. She doesn't even hiss out a bubbling curse as she darts into another row of books.

"SHIELD's vacating the premise. I'm just here to handle the more fragile parts of the move."

The woman works for SHIELD. _SHIELD is back in New York City._ Diana shouldn't be surprised, but to hear that a possibly main figure is back in the area has her wishing that she stayed home that night. Maybe then she would not be in such close contact with the world's most prying organization. Yet, she glances back at the books in her arms – she has always found fault in her inability to ignore malfeasance. Especially when a case such as the one she had tangled herself in is unraveling to seem more than a minor theft. However, before she can really address the other gnawing part of the mystery surrounding the stolen documents, the murdered scientist, and the missing assistant – Steve's voice alerts her that her moment for evasion has all but fled.

She doesn't smile, she won't pretend to dismiss the afternoon's events, but she does nod at him in acknowledgement. With this opportunity, Diana also takes the time to glance over at his companion. Where she has stolen snap shots of the woman's fleeting profile, she can now see her for who she truly is – the Black Widow. _What company you keep, Steve._ "Hello," she greets them both. She has seen the woman on the television, on the news; heard her name discreetly passed in bars and social galas. If she tries hard enough, Diana can also probably recall a time when she saw a younger girl with wide eyes staring upwards from an open courtyard in the scarlet capital of Russia. But if she was Natasha? She doesn't remember the date, nor the coloring of her hair, but she knows Black Widow's origin well enough to be wary of the woman. Her gaze darts back to Steve, beseeching him to make the introduction.

"This is Natasha," he gets the hint. He chances a quick glance at her but the redhead doesn't make an inkling of her feelings or thoughts known to either him or Diana. "She's a friend of mine and Natasha, meet Diana, she –"

"Helping you with the case," Natasha nods. "Pleasure."

Icy.

Her voice is cold, but Diana can only assume that the woman normally comes across as that. She has nothing but rumored words to compare her stature to, so she settles with a placid smile. "Likewise –"

"And what books do you have there?" Natasha interrupts, striding forward. The woman doesn't wait for an answer as pries two of the five out of her arms. Literally. Diana can only control her lips from parting in surprise as the Black Widow takes the two books into separate hands and reads their titles. "Looks like your partner is ahead of you, Steve." Diana wonders if the woman is trying to smile at her, but guesses that the Black Widow is better than false flattery and frowns at her condescending smirk. "Here –" She shoves the two books into Steve's chest as he walks towards them, a protest hanging at his lips.

"Natasha –" he flashes Diana an apologetic glance – one, she ignores as the Black Widow continues to steal her accumulated documents.

"Look at the books, Steve," Natasha snaps. "Did you know your partner already had them before we came here?"

Steve lets out a breath – heavy and tired, but he obeys and reads the titles. He can feel the gazes of both women waiting to gauge his reaction, but he only gives them one blank stare before he stows the novels under one arm. "Yes, I did." He is lying and he knows that both of them can clearly see the truth in his words, but neither woman goes for the fire and drops the knives they were wounding behind their closed-lipped expressions. "There's a smaller area for reading towards the back if you keep going straight, Diana," he tells the dark-haired woman. Her face is so devoid of emotion that it he almost wonders if she too is hiding some dark, secret past. But then he recalls that she does have a golden lasso somewhere on her person and sighs. "We'll catch up with you soon."

He doesn't know why Natasha is being hostile to her and he hopes it reads through his eyes, but Diana only holds his gaze for a second before she nods and turns. She doesn't even bother to ask for the books back, and he can only hope that her golden lasso did not come with heightened hearing before he turns on his companion.

" _Natasha,"_ he says, exasperatedly. But when he sees the woman, she is only grinning. And it is terrifying. She hands Steve the final book she had taken from Diana before crossing her arms; her disposition completely barren of the hostility she had seethed just moments ago. He watches in confusion as she cranes her head toward the direction that Diana had headed off to.

He is not ready for the words she says next. "Couldn't have picked a better one myself, Steve, but isn't she – I don't know, a bit out of your league?" It's completely out of line, out of subject, and he fixes Natasha with an incredulous look.

"What?"

"That serum affect more than your muscles, flag boy?" He hopes to dear God that Diana did not have enhanced hearing and that the only specialty about her is her golden lasso. With that in mind, he begins to trace Diana's steps in hopes that with her closer, the assassin beside him would rescind any more of her words. But he has to admit to the fact that a weight has left his chest as the levity of her previous enmity finally translates through his head. She had been assessing Diana, and with whatever checklist she had drawn out for her, the strange woman had met all her requirements.

"So are you here to help us look for Rourke or not?" He can see Diana now, seated at a table, flipping the pages of one of the books Natasha had allowed her to keep. Her hair has been pulled away from her face, tied off into a sleek bun only practice could achieve, and for a moment, he wishes he had a camera or a pad or pencil to draw the picturesque statue that was she.

But reckless attention be damned, he doesn't have to see to feel the delight the said assassin is reveling in at making the same observations as him. "Who says I can't help and torment you at the same time? "she replies, and her voice is loud. Too loud, and he can almost see Diana casually tilt her head towards their direction that he wishes he had paused and reassessed and readdressed Natasha on how to handle this situation.

" _Natasha_ –"he has stopped walking but the assassin has not. Rather, she only halts once she is a few more steps away from Diana, and this time, when she turns around to address Steve – he can see the certain joyful spite that dances across her bright green eyes.

"Sorry, is this just the first date? Am I getting in the way to –" Steve almost groans. Almost.

 _"You're fine, Natasha. If anything, you may just be disrupting the silence but no one seems to mind that."_ No one is near enough to be disrupted, but he doesn't comment on that lest he wants to bait them to relocate to a more populated section of the library. He can only bear so much with an audience.

"I'm sorry for taking your books, by the way," the two women continue to converse, ignorant to Steve's growing plight. "I just wanted to get a good read of Steve's new girl."

Natasha is many things, this he knows. And artful with words, he knows she is. But this? " _Oh my god,"_ he finally opens his eyes as he looks up.

"Steve!" He stares at her, at Natasha's brazen grin. "And here I thought you were religious."

"I am," he gives her, even though he knows she _knows_ this already. But he is not a god to be so adherent to all the rules of his Catholic faith. He moves past the woman to take the chair across from Diana, hoping to finally, maybe return to the reason of this venture. From the side, he spots a slow smile curling the corners of Diana's lips.

"Speaking of religion," she presses her palms flat out on either side of the book open in front of her. "Our missing scientist seems to have held an interest in a different set of gods." She pushes the book toward Steve and he sees the telltale signs of worn and bent edges. Natasha joins his perusal and flips the book close to see the title.

" _Greek Religion_ , by Walter Burkert," she slowly enunciates.

"He was a professor at Zurich, interesting man," Diana supplies for them. "Unfortunately, he's been retired since 1996 and at this age, I doubt he would be welcome or able to withstand some questioning."

"But is he even linked to Sterns?" Steve asks both of them. He finishes going over the first two books that had been shoved into his arms and settles himself back into his seat. In this position, Diana notices he has angled himself to view not only the two of them, but also the rest of the library beyond. Steve Rogers is a paranoid man under all his casual bravado and well-tuned manners.

"No, not that I know of," she answers. "I have a colleague who had fought for a time to correspond with him, but otherwise he is as much of a private man as they go."

"You do history?" Natasha questions, dropping the last book onto the table.

Diana nods her head in affirmation. "I work in restoration."

"Interesting," Natasha replies. "And here I thought you were a model. You must have a passion for saving old things," she comments. Diana stares at the redhead, seeing the game she wants to play out and smiles demurely at her.

"Thank you, and I do," she says. "I enjoy saving things that want to be saved."

"Makes you two a pair then," Diana watches Natasha grin at Steve. The woman is resilient, but for what she wants to come out of her teasing, she cannot see. Steve groans again and crosses his arms.

"Natasha –"

"Hey," the assassin cuts in. "I say what I see, but I also know when I'm not needed anymore. I'll drop by the tower tonight after I'm done with the roundup," she nods at Diana. "Let me know if it doesn't work out with this fossil," she bids farewell.

Diana sights Steve raising a palm to cover his face and instantly, laughter bubbles from her lips. "It was nice meeting you, Natasha." She waits for the redhead to disappear past the stacks before she turns on Steve. "She is interesting –"

"And too curious," Steve finishes, suddenly regretting the isolated setting. Without Natasha to staunch the fire, he is all but vulnerable to the remnants of Diana's previous fury. He doesn't pretend to hope that it has faded, something tells him that her words were founded from some deeper belief in something he had carelessly disregarded. "Ha – have you found anything from these books?"

"Other than in his interest in Greek mythology and the transmigration of souls? Maybe – Steve, what I said earlier –"

"I know, and I –"

" _No,_ listen." Diana fixes him an unreadable stare. "I will not apologize for my actions, but I will apologize for my words. You did not deserve them," she finishes. "And for that I understand if you do not require my help anymore."

Steve stares at her, but she is careful. And older. She has seen this scene play out many a time before. So she retreats into herself as he asses her. Her face is a granite slate – free of expression, but guarded. Always guarded. She knows she had made a mistake; she had made a handful of them since the gala. But can she be faulted? She thought she was beyond the hauntings of a name, but she had always been weaker when it came to things that touched Steve Trevor. And when it became evident that Steve Rogers, the man behind Captain America, is just the same as him? (Possibly more guileless, less tactful, more bravado and _good – gods,_ she couldn't recall a time when she met someone so _good –)_ It became harder for her to distinguish past from present and see Rogers for the man he is and not the man Trevor was.

She watches with careful eyes as Steve processes her words, his gaze cast downward, his arms no longer crossed and resting on the armrests of the wooden chair. If he is planning to terminate their acquaintanceship, she would accept it – maybe even revel in the freedom from being in such close contact with a reminder of Trevor, and walk away; Steve Rogers, Captain America, and East would all just be another part of her history to crunch up in a wadded ball for the untouched corners of brain to bury. Yet if he is going to do that, she realizes, he is taking far too long to announce it.

"I asked you a question and you haven't given me the complete answer yet," he looks up at her. "Have you found anything from these books?"

Diana holds his gaze. "I have, and I have a man who may be able to help us decipher more about our missing man," she doesn't miss a beat and grabs one of the books on the table and directs it toward Steve. "Christoph Riedweg will be able to guide us through the lines."

" _Pythagoras: His Life, Teaching, and Influence,"_ Steve mimics Natasha's previous actions and recites the title. "He was a real person, though, right? Pythagoras? Didn't he invent our math?"

"Part of our math," there is a spark of mirth in her tone. "But yes, he is real. Sterns did not take this book out - this one is from my own perusing. I've met Christoph once, and I can draft us an email for him once we get more solid evidence of what exactly Sterns is looking for." She doesn't like the lack of verbal confirmation, but she supposes Steve finds apologies as abhorrent as she does so she makes do with his nonchalance, and moves on to the next chapter of their mystery.

"The investigators at the fire haven't sent me anything yet, but as for the things they found at Dr. Javier's apartment," his voice trails off as he tries to recall the message. "There was a philosopher that was killed by his own students? Or poison, wasn't there, Diana?"

She nods. "Yes, Socrates was sentenced to death and forced to drink hemlock. Highly poisonous to humans, affects our central nerve system –"her eyes sharpen. "Are you saying that Dr. Javier was poisoned? With hemlock?"

"Yes," Steve grimly confirms.

Diana stands up. "This is insane," she states with a shake of her head. "I hope hemlock is not easily accessible in America, is it? It is native to Europe, but they are carefully grown and removed if found in highly-populated areas."

"I," Steve flounders for the right words. "I don't know," he finally admits. "I could get JARVIS to look for nearby suppliers, maybe see if he can find Sterns purchasing some –"

"Yes, yes, that could work." Diana begins to collect the books on the table. Steve stands to help midway through. She notices he eyes her larger pile but makes no comment. She wonders if he has been quick to learn and reassess how he treats her; if so she appreciates it as she guides them to the books' rightful shelves.

"What do you think this all means?" Steve quietly asks as they work in tandem to return the books. It's a menial task that could have been given to the librarians to do, but she finds the familiar motions comforting – stalling. And while she has never been a fan of wasted time, she finds herself taking solace in these quiet moments more often now that her life has found its orbit around one superhero.

"I have suspicions," Diana acquiesces to Steve, taking the offered book in his hand. She slides it back into its rightful position and navigates them towards the rows concerning Greek history. "But that is all they are. Suspicions."

"And are those suspicions what got you here without me telling you about what I found?"

Diana doesn't pause at the question. "I enjoy reading," she responds easily. "And like I said, I enjoy old things too. Written word is comforting."

"And predictable."

"And predictable is bad?" She chances a glance over at him. Steve isn't looking at her, and his eyebrows are clustered at the center of his forehead. "Why do I feel like we're just walking around in circles? Wasting time?"

"We're doing what we can," Diana knows he isn't really asking her the questions, but she has had the experience of dealing with bubbling frustration and rushing into things too early to make a sense of. "You know that, Steve."

He nods at her words, but he isn't satiated by them. Diana carefully takes the last book out of his hands and places it back in its rightful spot. "You said JARVIS can help us. Go to the tower, Steve while I stay on the ground and see if we missed anything."

"I don't think –"

The sight of bright light erupting behind Diana swallows his words, and before he can react, he finds her own wild eyes catching his surprised gaze first before he feels her body colliding against his. Instinctively, he curls an arm around Diana's waist, pushing her as close as possible to his chest as his other arm reaches for one of the shelves. He has miniscule seconds, but he is able to grasp onto the hard wood and when he does, he _pulls_ and throws his arm ground Diana's head – flipping their positions as much as he can so that his back can take the brunt of the falling books and hard wood.

And in the midst of the burning pages, and frenzied shouting, he can only focus on his memory of red lips and Diana's personal scent of mixed rosemary and lavender intermingling with some kind of store-bought perfume. The world continues to fall around them but in that moment, that is the only thing he centers his focus on before giving his consciousness away to a dreamless slumber.


	7. Chapter 7

"After all, crime is only…a left-handed form of human endeavor."

-Alonzo Emmerich (Louis Calhern, _The Asphalt Jungle_ , 1950)

* * *

When Steve comes to again, his first thought of is to feel for the crisp thin sheets of a hospital bed and to listen for the beeping of a nearby monitor. But he doesn't hear or feel these things; he can't identify the telltale signs of a sterilized room. So he groans, and tries to stretch, but finds a blistering heat and weight on his back and it is only then that he remembers. And grieves. He lets his head fall down in the minimal space that he has and feels his forehead hit something soft and warm. Diana.

Carefully, he frees his arms from under her and puts them at her sides so that he is in some makeshift push-up position. And he _pushes,_ and the library groans above him, but otherwise nothing else moves. He reels in another breath and tries again, but to no avail, nothing budges and he falls onto his forearms once again. He can feel something swelling in his chest, but he smothers it down and forces himself to focus. With his ears no longer ringing, he listens to his surroundings and catches sound of distant sirens. Always sirens.

Steve turns his head and coughs some of the smoke out of his lungs. He's had worst happen to him, but for some reason, the weight of his awakening, New York, _Peggy – time –_ it's all building up and the dam he has quickly and meticulously constructed is falling apart minute by minute. He signed up to help end a war. To help save his best friend. But this?

"Do bombs normally follow you everywhere, Rogers?" There's a gentle coughing and movement under him. He looks back down at Diana as he tries to maneuver himself to give her more space. He's fortunate enough that the bookcase has steered away the bulk of the crumbling building off of them, but he is unlucky in the sense that it has trapped them in a convex triangle. "This is the second one of the day."

Steve could hardly believe it's only been a day, and that he's only known this woman officially for two, but he doesn't comment on that. Instead, he tries to push against the weight on his back again. "You wouldn't happen to have some super strength with that lasso would you?" He doesn't know if it's too early to bring up that tender subject, but the time they spend buried under the rubble of the library, the more time Rourke has to finish his plan. In the fading light, he catches her eyes gleam.

"You must be a lucky man then, Steve Rogers," Diana says after a pause. "Move your legs and maybe we can both push our way out."

Steve obeys, and waits for Diana to maneuver herself beside him. With a quiet countdown, they push against the slab of stone together and it groans but it moves, and the sounds of New York City come back to them to his relief. He doesn't think the city should ever be quiet, and hopes it never does. Steve stretches up to his full height as he examines the damage left behind from the explosion. Fortunately, it is not extensive and the better half of the library is still tall and proud. Again, New York will have to rebuild a part of its history again, but he is glad that not all of its past is lost.

"I think they can take care of this mess, don't you think?" the woman beside him says. His eyes turn to her figure already picking through the minefield of rubble and ashes. He follows her, partly because he has nothing else to latch onto, and because he knows that while he could help, he would only be wasting time. Rourke is still out there, somewhere. With stolen documents and an uncovered plan.

"We should stick to the plan," Diana spouts out. She steers them through the mass of onlookers, managing to play both inconspicuous wallflower and moving idol. For his part, he keeps his head down and hopes that the public has long forgotten the face behind the mask.

"Everett has not stopped since he has disappeared. We shouldn't too."

And he agrees. He makes sure he hears her tell her so, but he also thinks that with the fading light – more bad than good will fall on their search. However, he doesn't tell her that. He knows enough about Diana to understand that some words are just filtered out of her comprehension. So he proposes dinner – a break, under the intention that they should pass on the bulk of their work to JARVIS so that they may evade arousing anymore explosions and unwanted attention from the public.

Diana only passes him a second glance before she concedes to his alternative, and asks where their rendezvous would be. "What do you mean?"

"Are you asking me to dinner, Steve Rogers?" Diana is tall. Her head tilts, and her eyes darken with the shadows dancing across half of her face.

Steve feels the burn on his cheeks, but he doesn't stumble and keeps pace with the woman beside him. "It would just save us time, trying to meet up afterward and all – but," he doesn't want to push anything on her, the word, 'elusive,' coming back to his thoughts.

"Are you cooking?" Diana asks.

"I could," Steve can't stop his thoughts from leaving his lips. He can't cook, his mind hurriedly reminds him. For most of his grown life he has lived off of canned food and canteen slop. He can't recall a time where he has had to make more than the typical eggs, bacon, and toast. "But I shouldn't. JARVIS usually has something ready when I go up for dinner."

"Modern technology suiting you well then, Captain?" Diana stops walking and raises a hand to hail a cab. "Or should I call it cutting-edge technology? It is Stark's work after all, and he is the leader in all things automatonic."

He shrugs in reply as his hand automatically reaches out ahead of Diana and opens the taxi door for her. There is no hesitation as she slides into the backseat, leaving enough space for him to follow suit if he wanted. He does, and he tells the driver the first street over by the tower before settling down. The precaution is unwarranted. Stark Tower is an obnoxious needle that is just a bit too tall, large, and shiny in the haystack that is New York City. However, old habits die hard and he hopes the woman next to him does not mind the extra block of walking. His head tilts back against the seat. Although, he pushes down the sigh as he reseats himself into a more proper position.

"It's fine," the woman next to him speaks softly. Her gaze is on the passing streets, but her attention is on him. "Even heroes need to rest."

"And is that what you are?" he asks. He shouldn't broach the subject, he knows, but she had not erred away from it at the library.

Dark. Her eyes have always been dark, but when they settle on him, they are blurry. Seeing, but not seeing him. On something far away. When she speaks, it is hardly above the noise of the air conditioner and he has to lean in to catch her words. "I was never the hero, Steve Rogers."

She turns her head away from him, but her palms lay flat out on her lap. In the time that he has known Diana, she has never allowed for small quirks such as body language, to reveal her innermost thoughts. But here she is, betraying her beliefs to allow a Brooklyn-born experiment to try and understand her.

"Have you ever had pizza?" He glances out the windshield. They are close, but not too near Stark Tower to be able to go through with detour instead. Although, his mind has made up the decision already and he feeds the driver a new address. The older man grumbles that he will be charging them more, but Steve waves off the fee and pushes for the pizzeria.

"I have had pizza before, Steve." Diana comments as the interaction ends.

"Yeah, but not _the_ New York pizza," Steve replies, and soon enough, they have parked on the corner of some overlooked trodden street. He pays the taxi driver and tells him not to wait on them before he turns to usher Diana toward the haughty neon lights of one of New York's many local pizzerias. He lets her in first, the smell of fresh dough and Italian herbs overwhelming the musk of the streets. The aroma gives way to the plump faces of a husband and wife and an atrociously cheap rendition of a five-star restaurant. He catches Diana's dubious glance, but nonetheless, he seats her at one of the plastic covered tables before heading over to the couple.

"Got a hot date, Steve?" the man welcomes with a grin. His hands are caked with flour, but he seems mindless of that as he reaches over the glass counter and pats him on the back. Steve laughs and shakes his head.

"No, no, just a friend," he supplies.

"Is she single?" Marcurio chortles louder as the woman beside him unleashes her white towel on his shoulder. Her husband has the good cheer to 'recoil' and return to rolling out his dough.

"The usual, then?" Lisette smiles.

"Two slices?" he says aloud, looking back to stop Diana's perusal of the dining area. She flashes Lisette one of her pedicured smiles as she raises three fingers in correction.

"A woman after my own heart," Marcurio comments as his wife rounds on him once more. Steve laughs. "Make that six slices then, and I'll take a smaller box to go please. Half pepperoni and half margarita." He recalls Natasha's own peculiar tastes and can't remember which she preferred. She has ordered the two types before, has zealously guarded them at some points during their time together – but has made no clear distinction as to which she preferred.

"Got it, I'll be over with the water soon, sweetie," Lisette obliges.

Steve nods in thanks as he rejoins Diana. She stops her inspection of the place as her fingers carefully entangle with each other. "So how long have you been coming here? Since you were young?"

Steve chuckles. "Um, no – I just found this place during one of my walks." He looks over at the synthetic roses placed in the small glass vase between them. "I –" He pauses. "I never really got to eat pizza that often when I was younger." Him and his mother never had the money to really splurge on pizza back then - nor was it ever sold as cheap as it is now.

Diana's eyes are sparkling when they meet his. "I know that, Steve, I was joking," she smiles appreciatively as Lisette comes over with their water and only speaks when she is gone. "If they had been around since you were born, I would be asking where the owners are hiding the fountain of youth."

Steve leans back in his chair as his own fingers curl against the glass of water. The perspiration on the outside easily melds against his palm, but he doesn't let go. "Oh," Diana smiles. "You thought that I did not know about your history, Captain America?"

Steve gives a miniscule shrug. "I'm just not used to it I guess. When I went under, no one really knew outside of the military who the guy behind the stripes was – thanks, Lisette," he cuts himself off as the woman saunters over to hand them their plates.

"We tried our best to fit all three slices on there, and the takeout will be at the counter whenever you are ready," she nods off. Both patrons watch as she walks over to the front to greet their newest customers, noticing a sort of routine passage embedded into the red carpeting of the pizzeria. Normalcy at its best.

"It must be so nice to have something to go back to," Diana ponders aloud. Steve looks over at her, lifting a slice of pizza and carefully taking a bite out of it. No mess, no awkward trying-to-avoid the grease fumbling, and sighs.

"It's just weird," he finishes. "I'm still a boy from Brooklyn but I'm not."

"Not to them," Diana nods. "Heroism comes at a cost. Dramatic as yours was with the last phone call and – _sorry,_ " she stops herself as she notices the sudden rise and curl of his shoulders. "How long has it been since they woke you up?"

"About a month," Steve answers. "And it's fine. Peggy has always been a sore subject for me, but I have to face it one day or another." He sees the question in her before she can ask it and she smiles. "And I have seen her," he admits. "She's old but well."

"That is all we can ever ask for those we've left behind." Diana acquiesces. There is no music in the Italian pizzeria. Just the gentle murmur of chatter from the passing patrons and the husband and wife. Just the droning noise of habitual tasks and banter. Diana looks up and catches the attention of the wife, Lisette.

Steve sees her making her way toward them and sighs. "You go on ahead and grab the pizza, I'll pay."

"Thank you," Diana nods and does just as so. Steve takes his time pulling out his wallet. It's a commonplace task, one that doesn't require his attention to be alleviated from Diana's lithe form as she rises and moves towards Marcurio. He even speaks to Lisette, a well-rehearsed script about promises to come again and such, but regretfully his focus is not on them. Diana wears red on her lips too.

He makes this realization as he hugs Lisette and raises a hand to bid farewell to Marcurio. This observation stirs something within him, and Steve doesn't know if he wants to discover what it is. He moves quietly toward Diana, a moth to a memory, and smiles. He lets her open the door for them and wonders when he had started letting go of what could have been and whether or not he should be so bothered about the lack of guilt that's coming with it. But remorse absent or not, he shakes of the ghosts of his past and focuses on the present.

When they breach the pervasive loudness of New York City again, they don't bother to add to its noise. Diana zips up her coat and Steve reaches for the plastic bag in her hand. She lets go and he leads them back into the open streets – away from their temporary reprieve. And when he lets her into Stark's tower, he wonders if he should be surprised at JARVIS' all-knowing welcoming. The AI lets them into the elevator without further interrogation and ascends them into the main top floor. Still, it is quiet – but Steve doesn't mind.

And then suddenly, the metal doors slide open, and he wonders if he should be surprised to see the red-haired spy caressing the wine glass in her hand.

" _Steve,"_ she greets. Her green eyes slide over to his companion. " _Diana."_

Steve steps forward and he gives the bag in his hand a shake. "Got pizza for you," he moves past her and takes out the box to pop it open. Miraculously, the pizza is still warm and buzzing with the scent of salted meat dancing with fresh mozzarella.

" _Grazie,"_ Natasha thanks as she reaches for a slice. Diana takes a brief moment to herself to take in the glass-walled room as she saunters over to join them. "The windows aren't one way, but this high-up – who's there to see us?" Natasha comments after a bite.

"Stark likes to enjoy what his money can get, can anyone blame him?" Diana rebukes.

"No, but his ego is big enough that it does need a few beatings." Natasha replies.

Beside himself, Steve snorts as he leans against the counter. "A few?" He says, earning a pair of rolling eyes from the former assassin.

"I'm trying not to scare our guest here too much, Steve," she chirps mirthfully. "So how was your day, the two of you?"

"Well," Diana looks at Steve – at the smudge of dirt still lingering on his shoulder - staining his shirt. "Explosive is one word to call it."

A fine eyebrow rises up much to Steve's embarrassment as he shakes his head. "There was another bomb at the library," he quickly adds. "It went off a few minutes after you left."

Natasha looks at him one more time, as if assessing whether one more lewd comment was able to work its way into the conversation, before she gives into the levity of the situation and sighs. "I heard, it was in the news. I'm glad the two of you made it out okay."

"This can't have been at random," Diana reasons, crossing her arms.

Natasha reaches out for one more slice as she observes the other woman. "It isn't, you're right," she admits. "As of now, a total of four bombs have gone off in this city. The other being at Central Park –"

"Rourke can't be –"

"Hold on," Natasha cuts Steve off. "Before you go on your frustrated rant, I went ahead and collected some evidence and ran more diagnostic testing on them," she wipes one hand on a napkin as she touches an obscure elevated circle on the counter. It gives rise to a projected screen. "The bombs all either came from different sources, or made by hand – the interesting part is when they were inserted into the places that they were put in." Her index finger deftly moves the projection to show the gym.

"This," she zooms into one unimpressive brick wall. "Is where the bomb was. Diagnostics on the surrounding mortar, plaster, what have you show that this area was put together recently compared to the rest." She zooms out of the picture and onto a new site, an unassuming walkway at Central Park. "Same here," she taps onto one spot by a bench." The pavement here is new compared to the rest."

"What you are saying –"

"Takes time and work," Natasha confirms Diana's suspicions. "JARVIS suggested we do thermolumenscience dating to see how long ago they were planted but that testing takes hours neither of us can spare. So I ran some data searches for recent construction on all the sites that were hit. And lo' and behold," she pulls up four different documents for the four sites.

Steve leans in the space between Natasha and Diana. "Am I reading this right?" Because he refuses to believe this.

"All of these sites were hit during the New York City attack and were fixed a week or so after they were damaged." Natasha finished her slice and closed the box.

"So they weren't premeditated, at least not extensively," Diana postulates.

"But who would do that?" Steve still can't believe the information before them. "Why would they do that? Right after New York too?" Because he had been a part of the attack, and witnessed the aliens' capability for destruction. He had seen the carnage, felt the slick blood against his fingers - heard the ragged last breaths of victims. His fingers curled against his bicep.

Who would attack their very own home after just seeing death visit it?

"More than likely, whoever planted them just exploited the opportunity to be able to do so. All the companies that participated in the repairs of these sites are small; their workers may be undocumented and volunteers at this point." _Tracking is impossible._ Steve heard between her words.

"But we know who it is already, right Steve?" Diana says, trying to cajole him back into the conversation. She uncrosses her arms and fumbles with the obsidian ring on her index finger. "The documents that were stolen – the request for them did not come in until a few days after New York and –" she looks at Natasha. "Was the museum hit? During the attack?"

The redhead shrugs but she quickly calls JARVIS to find out for them.

"No, ma'am," the automated voice replies. "40° 42' 50.1959'' N –"

"That's all JARVIS, thank you," Natasha cuts him off.

"Rourke wanted those documents specifically," Diana reorganizes her thoughts. "We hesitated to send them over to Dr. Javier because his specialty was not in Greek theology. But he made a case, and they agreed as long as I was the emissary."

"And what did this Rourke study then? What did Javier study?" Natasha narrows her eyes.

"Dr. Javier's studies focused on Roman history, and would only reach out to us if we had an artefact on display or in-house that he needed. But it never had to do with Greek theology or –"

"Rourke's dissertation," Natasha cut in. "Is on the Greek influence on Roman theology with a focus in the post-mortem rituals – morbid." She closes out from the projection, letting it dissipate completely to refocus on her two companions.

"You've been silent for a while, Steve," she comments. "Penny for your thoughts?"

Death and chaos. That is what Rourke is leaving as his legacy, and Steve cannot understand why a man would ever wish that to be left in the wake of his name. He had saved the world, to give rise to bigger monsters – is that what it is? He wants to laugh, punch a wall – dive back in the ocean as cowardly as that sounds. He wants to disappear and forget that this is the world he fought and lost his life for. Sacrificed his buddy's life for; lost a dance for.

The portion of the counter trapped in his fist gives a bit and he suddenly pulls away from it. He feels the eyes of the two women on him, on the crumbs of marble falling, but for once he is apathetic to the damage and their opinions of him. If he had let the world fall apart, would Natasha have been saved from her bloody past? Would Diana be less calloused and cynical about heroes and _good_? Did people even believe in genuine goodness anymore?

"We need to find him and see if there are any more bombs he left behind," he finalizes. He knows it isn't healthy, to curl up the wild demons in his head into a tiny ball and throw away in a corner, but he has no choice. He is more afraid of what would happen if he let them out over the reality that could have been if he hadn't stopped the Red Skull.

"I've had JARVIS look into the other smaller reconstruction projects done in the city and sent them to what SHIELD agents are leftover to check out, as for finding your guy – he could be out of state for all we know, Steve."

"Although, SHEILD has been alerted to keep an eye out for him."

"Thanks, Natasha," Steve breathes out. At least the public is safe from further harm. He looks at the red-haired assassin first, notices the deep well under her eyes hiding behind a veneer of makeup and shakes his head. "Thank you," he repeats. "You really didn't have to help us."

Natasha rolls her eyes at him, but she knows to push off the counter and drop her glass of wine into the sink. "It's a con of working for the better good," she says. "Goodnight you two." And with that, she disappears into the elevator.

Steve turns to Diana, and recalls the conversation that broke them apart earlier on.

"I'm assuming sleep isn't in your plans tonight?"

She turns the phone in her hands around. "First dinner, and now this? If I didn't know any better, Steve Rogers," she stares at him.

"I – I didn't mean it like that, I meant –"

"I know what you meant," she stops him. "And I can only hope it is. I will see you tomorrow," she begins to walk the same path as Natasha.

"You have my number?" he calls out.

Diana turns around, the same slow smile stretching across her face. "No, but the universe has a funny way of having us run into each other."

* * *

A/N: sorry, sorry for the long wait! I was helping out in R&D over the summer among my own project and classes but here it is! The calm before the storm!


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